It's no secret that as you get older, your body falls apart. This doesn't happen all at once but a little at a time. It's like paying off a maxed out credit card by sending in $15 a month.
I used overhear hear old people complain in vivid detail about colonoscopies, bowel movements or the lack thereof and the latest in cataract surgery. So what does it say about my own age when I start adding in tidbits of my own?
If it's not my back hurting, it's the nasty bike accident. If it's not the seeping road rash then it's the boils I got when I had chicken pox as an adult. (Really gross.) I say these things not necessarily in the privacy of my own home anymore. I sometimes talk about this as other people are eating.
See where I'm going?
Gastrointestinal information of any kind used to destroy my appetite for a few hours until I could release the imagery. Now I just shrug and pick up my sandwich.
I still feel like if you're 90 years old, you have the right and privilege to discuss any damn thing you want at any time of day. Personally knowing the person you're speaking with vs. some random person in the elevator is completely up to you. And I don't feel like I'm there. Yet.
Part of why old people bring up the subjects in question is because they no longer care that someone next to them is consuming something that looks like the results of too much Ex Lax. And that's my problem. I simply don't care anymore. I'm not seeking attention it's simply what I have to offer during a conversation.
I remember when Generation X was the cool, hip generation. Sure, we were purported to be the laziest generation ever but it was the whole "title that ends in an 'X'" mystique. We wore black clothes and flannel shirts. We grooved to Pearl Jam.
Have you seen a picture of the members of Pearl Jam lately? They look old. Instead of battling heroin addiction, Eddie Vedder is fighting lactose intolerance.
But despite everything coming disassembled, I grant myself this one benefit as the years go by: More cake than the year preceding it.